


What matter are words in love

by Moonpeach



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: Gen, Slight Vithur, it's there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4439780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonpeach/pseuds/Moonpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lay me down and hear me out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What matter are words in love

If Vivi wasn't such a worrywart. She never would have asked. 

She wouldn't be carrying this weight of concern on her shoulders. Carry the same look, because it fits well when she's overlooking Arthur every time he thinks she's not looking. 

She can see his eyes, the way they droop and cross over every which way that they pull from. They're hazy, sometimes glassy looking and unreadable, like he's always in thought over something she can't see. If she didn't care enough, she never would have said anything, wouldn't have approached and let the question linger.

They've never continued a conversation for more than over a minutes passing. She could carry on for the last sentence, then apply another question to the mix, all in all it would start up for a talk, but beyond just the first two, the answers he gives are never enough. 

Ask him of how often he sleeps, it's the same answer-It's fine I'm okay.  
Ask him of how bad he feels about something, it's the same answer.- I"m fine, It's okay.

The same awful answer, and she hates having to hear it. Like a repeated record; a stubborn cog to a system automated to clear out excuses made behind hopeful brown eyes seated before hers. He's not as controlled with his expressions, they're often than not no more less as subtle, despite how hard he tries to make it work and hide it so well. 

Maybe it's the underlying fear that he's hurting inside somewhere, or that maybe she's not trying hard enough to be the good friend she wants to be. Because Arthur means a lot, and his heath and happiness is something she strives to keep in check from time to time. It's what best friends are for right? She should be able to figure out what's wrong. 

But she can't, and it frustrates her. 

 

Whatever the problem may be, whether it's in the medication he takes, or so often than not the amount of time he's carrying himself to the bathroom late at night,  
it's concerning to her how much he tries to hide. Because the expressions don't do it enough, this sense is killing her from far beneath, and even in the wary hours of the night does it not take but a lot for her to not exit the room and enters his, uninvited but there to cross herself with his struggles. 

Vivi is a good friend, she tries her damn hardest to make sure her best friend doesn't fall under. He may not offer a lot of duplicity to her, and their conversations stay strained to a point where only one of them can end it on a note that's unsavory and unsatisfying in her defense.

She tries with all her might, and he keeps up as well as he can with the lies, the excuses, she'll take it bit by bit. Ignorant to the responses, because she doesn't know any better. 

She encourages more than just a talk, for a friend he strays a little off to the side a lot. Varied in his isolation, she doesn't see him as often as she'd like. At times she's find him working off the upgrades of his metal arm-- another topic he won't speak about. 

She's asked about it's origins, but he won't talk about it, instead what's given is a flinch and waving her off like the question itself is not important for her to dig into. she's tried, trust her on this. Or off to his room behind a closed door where he lays under a few sheets, heavy eyes to the walls and not a word said later on. 

Mystery never offers his word, he can't tell her anything, just that she shouldn't bother Arthur so much. " Give him space, Give him time, he'll come around." It's the only response he can proposed. But to her defense, giving time has wasted them to a disentigrating amount of an relationship. 

 

She knows something is wrong with him.  
She knows something is wrong with them.

 

There is something wrong, even in her own mind, theres comes a crossing of something missing, a piece she can't decipher, the page is too blank, too unreadable, and at times during the nights even her sleep patterns have changed; due to the enigma of what she seems to not remembered. 

She can't figure out how long ago Arthur's had that arm for. Metal and bright, she can recall the hospital, the blurring of the white lights, doctors, and crowded rooms everywhere she passed, but beyond that, before of all that, the slate is blank. 

They had no clear idea what had happened, nobody could say what it was. Her mind clogged and his mouth was slow, they've tried explaining but she can't build her words enough to piece together what all happened. 

What had all changed, it's feels like something missing.

It's a churning cycle in her brain, undisturbed yet not complete, nobody can tell her a word, nobody says anything. 

When at night, when she enters his room again, the door isn't supposedly lock this time around. She creeps in uninvited, unseen, because his back is to the front of her and slowly her pace to the bed is a silent one. It's a hesitant beat, and hesitant hand that encloses the space between him, she needs to get a good eye, make him look to her because this avoidance is killing, it' sick and it's festering enough. 

At the touch, he flinches , crawls back with a start, wide as his eyes will handle. It takes but a moment to realize and seat himself down again when it's just her again. It seems like such a terrible injustice to her, to have her muscles and arms  
recall something her mind can not, when she's stoops low enough to capture Arthur in her arms again. 

She finds it weird, oddly because this should be conditioned, she's supposed to shelter this comfort, she's a good friend,she wants to look out for him, he matters, he's the only one that matters. He squirms underneaths, like the warmth is uncomfortable and he can't settle back down, breathing is labored, gradually the pull of her weight falls on top, it's never enough to crush because she knows how much he hates feeling trapped for too long. 

They lay like that for more than a few moments, she stand deterred from not speaking up, just centered this moment where she can do what she feels is needed. It's what friends do right? They're suppose to comfort, they're supposed to ask what's wrong, is something going on, she's supposes to carry this worry. 

Because Arthur means a lot, and seeing him hold a weight to his shoulders, something he won't talk about it with her or anyone, bothers her to this extent. She tries, she tries with all her heart and that should be what comes forth over anything else. She just wishes it's weren't like this, she wishes these holes in her head would fill themselves up, maybe then she'll get the answers she needs. 

Under the softness of his comforters and abandoned sheets, his arms fold around her, pull her in and there they lay sound and projecting their feelings towards the struggles of the night's awakening. His breathing has lowered enough, she's careful not to twist her fingers too deep in his hair. 

They fall, they sleep, and for the rest of the night, her question is put off for the next morning, come across him again if she can, because the cycle never stops and she never lets it end without the final note. She's a good friend, his only friend as far as she can tell, and at the most it'll probably stay that way.


End file.
